The walls of Caelborne loomed behind him, banners of the Eternal Guild rippling in the wind. Daniel didn't look back.
Every step away from the city was a risk, but staying would've been suicide. The Guild wouldn't stop after one failed strike. They'd send more men, stronger, ranked higher, until he was nothing but ash under their boots.
Better to vanish. Better to build where no eyes could follow.
For two days, Daniel followed the river east, keeping to the woods, sleeping little. His cloak hid him from passing patrols, his rifle ready in case.
On the third day, he found it.
A canyon split the hills, its cliffs jagged and steep. Dense forest ringed the edges, the river feeding into a waterfall that vanished into mist below. Few paths led down. Hidden. Secure. Perfect.
Daniel descended carefully, boots crunching on stone, until he reached the canyon floor. Wide, open space stretched out before him — flat ground surrounded by cliffs, unreachable from above unless you had wings.
Here, no one would see. No one would hear.
Here, he could build.
the canyon was silent except for the rush of the waterfall.
Daniel stood at its center, boots planted on the stone, the cliffs rising high around him like natural walls. The mist cooled his skin, carrying the scent of water and moss.
For the first time since he'd arrived in this world, he felt something close to peace.
"This will do," he muttered, scanning the space. "Yeah. This will do."
He had spent weeks in cages, forests, villages, and cities that didn't belong to him. Always someone else's rules, someone else's walls, someone else's threats hanging over his head.
The Eternal Guild had their cities. The elves had their forests. The villagers had their farms.
But Daniel Mason had nothing.
Here, in the shadow of the cliffs, he would build his own.
Not a guild. Not an army camp.
A home.
He knelt on the canyon floor, steadying his breath. The patch lay in his palm, its stitched eye glinting faintly in the firelight.
Daniel closed his eyes and focused. Not a weapon. Not a shadow soldier. A person. Flesh, blood, bone, thought.
The fire surged in his veins instantly, harsher than ever. His body shook, muscles spasming as blood trickled from his nose. He clenched his jaw, forcing the image tighter, bending the burning storm into shape.
"Come on," he gasped. "Work, damn it."
Light erupted, flooding the canyon. The ground trembled beneath him, and with a final scream, the fire tore from his chest.
When the light faded, a man knelt before him.
Armor plain but solid. Hands scarred like he'd worked all his life. Chest heaving, breath real, eyes blinking open.
Daniel's vision swam. His heart thundered. His body felt hollowed out, every vein screaming from the backlash. He collapsed to one knee, coughing blood.
But he didn't care.
Because the man was alive.
Breathing. Real.
The figure looked at him, voice raw but steady: "Who… are you?"
Daniel swallowed hard, vision blurring. "Daniel… I made you."
Then the pain hit in full, dragging him into blackness.
When he woke hours later, the man was still there, silent, watching. His body still hurt like fire had scorched him from the inside out. Every muscle screamed, every breath felt shallow.
He realized the truth: the ability had given him what he asked for, but at the same price as before.
He hadn't yet learned how to stop the withdrawal.
That would come later.
But for now, lying broken in his canyon, Daniel Mason whispered to himself:
"It worked… he's real."
And even through the agony, he smiled.
Daniel woke to the sound of rushing water and crackling fire. His body screamed as though he'd been burned from the inside out. Every muscle ached, his throat was dry, and blood was caked under his nose.
The man he'd created sat nearby, silent, watching the flames. When Daniel stirred, the figure turned his head slowly.
"You live," the man said simply, his voice steady, real.
Daniel groaned, forcing himself upright. "Barely." His chest felt like it had been hollowed with fire. His vision still swam at the edges.
The man tilted his head, studying him. "You made me. And it nearly killed you."
Daniel gave a bitter laugh. "Story of my life."
He spent the next day gathering his strength. Water from the river. Fish cooked over fire. Every motion was agony, but he forced himself through it.
The man—Daniel called him Kael—helped without question. When Daniel limped to cut wood, Kael took the axe. When Daniel faltered at the fire, Kael steadied the pot.
He was more than real. He was reliable.
But Daniel knew one thing: if every creation tore him apart like that, he'd never survive long enough to build anything.
He had to figure out why.
That night, he sat cross-legged in the canyon again, the waterfall mist on his skin, the fire warming his face.
Kael sat nearby, silent but watchful.
Daniel steadied his breathing, remembering the agony of last time. The power had raged through him like a wildfire, uncontrolled, brutal.
He whispered to himself: Don't fight it. Guide it.
He pictured someone new. A woman this time. A hunter, quick and sharp, with a bow in her hand.
The fire stirred, hot and hungry. Pain licked at his veins, but he didn't resist. He let it flow, shaping it with his breath, guiding it into form.
His heart pounded. His skin burned. But the backlash didn't slam into him this time. The fire bent instead of breaking him.
Light spilled into the canyon—then faded.
A woman stood before him, breathing hard, bow in hand. Her eyes met his, sharp and alive.
"I am here," she said.
Daniel gasped, falling back against the stone. Sweat poured down his face, but the hollow ache wasn't there. No blood from his nose. No collapse.
Just exhaustion.
It had worked.
Daniel laughed, ragged but triumphant. "I… did it."
Kael tilted his head. "Different this time."
Daniel nodded, chest still heaving. "I didn't fight it. I… steered it. Like riding a wave instead of drowning under it."
The woman watched him, silent but steady.
"What's your name?" Daniel asked, though he knew the truth—names would be his to give.
After a moment, he whispered, "Seris."
The woman inclined her head. "Seris," she repeated, as if testing the word.
Daniel leaned back, eyes closing. The pain was still there, but muted, manageable.
He had cracked the code.
Over the next week, Daniel experimented carefully. One creation a day, never more. Each time he guided the fire instead of fighting it, and each time the backlash lessened.
By the end of the week, three companions stood beside him: Kael the shield, Seris the hunter, and Bran the builder, who could swing a hammer like it was an extension of his arm.
Together, they began shaping the canyon into something more than empty stone.
Logs became walls. Stone became shelters. The waterfall's pool became their well.
At night, they sat around the fire, and Daniel felt something stir in his chest he hadn't felt in years.
Not just survival.
Belonging.
Daniel stood at the canyon's edge one evening, staring at the sun bleeding red across the horizon. His companions worked below—Kael patrolling, Seris stringing her bow, Bran shaping stone.
His chest still ached faintly from the fire, but it was no longer crippling.
He had learned to control it.
He could create without destroying himself.
The Eternal Guild would never understand.
But he didn't need their marks.
Because here, in this hidden canyon, Daniel Mason had started building something greater.
Not an army. Not a guild.
A home.
The canyon was alive with the sound of hammers.
Bran's walls had risen higher, logs lashed together, stone foundations pressed deep. Seris hunted the cliffs, her arrows clean and precise. Kael drilled, patrolling with the vigilance of a soldier who never tired.
Daniel stood at the edge of it all, arms folded, watching the firelight play against the growing shelters.
It looked safe.
But he knew better.
He had seen bases fall before. Outposts swallowed in fire. Villages flattened under artillery. Safe never lasted long.
And here? He had no allies, no reinforcements, no supply lines. Just a canyon, a handful of people he'd made, and his own strength.
It wasn't enough.
His gut told him the Eternal Guild hadn't forgotten him. And beyond them, the beasts of this world still roamed. He'd killed one in the trial — but what else was out there?
Daniel clenched his fists. If they come… this place will burn unless I'm ready.
And there was only one way to be ready.
That night, Daniel sat cross-legged on the canyon floor again, the waterfall's mist cool on his face. His companions stood back, watching.
He closed his eyes and breathed deep.
One soldier wasn't enough. Not even three. He needed a squad.
He pictured it in his mind: boots pounding dirt, rifles in hand, helmets glinting under sun. Men and women clad in modern fatigues, faces steady, formation tight.
The fire surged. His skin crawled, veins burning, but he guided it. Not one. Many. Together.
Light exploded outward, brighter than ever before. The ground trembled. Daniel's scream echoed off the canyon walls—then cut short as shadow became shape.
When the haze cleared, a dozen figures knelt before him.
M16 rifles across their chests. Helmets strapped tight. Uniforms crisp, patterned with camouflage.
American soldiers.
Daniel staggered, sweat pouring down his face. His body trembled, but the collapse didn't come. The fire had burned, but it had obeyed.
He raised his head, staring at the squad before him.
They stood at attention, weapons slung, eyes forward. Breathing. Real.
The closest snapped a salute. "Awaiting orders, sir."
Daniel's chest tightened.
For a moment, he was back on Earth — back with his unit, the smell of cordite and dust in the air. His throat caught, but he forced the feeling down.
These weren't his brothers. They weren't the men who'd bled beside him.
But they were his now.
Over the next days, he tested more.
A Humvee rolled into the canyon in a blaze of light, its engine rumbling, tires chewing stone. A mounted M2 Browning heavy machine gun glinted under the sun.
An ammo crate followed, rifles stacked neatly within.
Each creation left him drained, but not broken. Each time, the fire bent more easily to his will.
His companions—Kael, Seris, Bran—watched with awe.
"This… army," Bran said, voice hushed. "No kingdom has this."
Daniel nodded grimly. "That's the point."
Soldiers were one thing. An army was another.
Daniel threw himself into drilling them.
Dawn to dusk, the canyon rang with the crack of rifle fire, the thump of boots, the bark of commands. He ran them through formations, cover-and-move tactics, suppressive fire drills. He set up patrols, checkpoints, firing ranges.
He heard his own voice barking orders like he had back home, steady and relentless:
"Cover that flank!""Check your corners!""Keep your spacing—don't bunch up!"
They learned fast. Faster than humans ever had.
By the end of the week, the canyon echoed like a training ground from Earth. Gunfire rolled like thunder, Humvees rumbled across the stone, squads moved with discipline.
It wasn't just a home anymore.
It was a fortress.
That night, Daniel stood on the cliff edge, watching his soldiers bed down in perfect lines, weapons at their sides.
Kael stood beside him, silent.
"You built a home," Kael said at last. "Now you build an army."
Daniel's jaw tightened. He thought of the Guild. Of their Bronze, Iron, Gold, Diamond, Red Iridium. Of their enforcers crashing through his door.
"I won't be caught weak again," Daniel said. "This is my ground. And anyone who comes for it… won't leave alive."
The waterfall roared below, as though answering his vow.
The Eternal Guild ruled kingdoms with their marks and ranks.
But here, hidden in a canyon far from their eyes, Daniel Mason had created something they could never control.
A home defended by an army from another world.
His world.
And this was only the beginning.
Squads of soldiers moved in formation, drilling under Daniel's commands. Humvees growled across the stone, engines echoing through the cliffs. At night, the firelight glinted off rows of helmets and weapons stacked in neat lines.
It was everything Daniel had dreamed of back on Earth—organization, discipline, strength.
But it wasn't enough.
Not for what was coming.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the memory burned into his bones: the shape of a beast of steel, the thunder of its cannon, the clatter of its treads.
An M1 Abrams.
The fire surged instantly, burning hotter than before. His chest tightened, blood dripping from his nose. He grit his teeth, refusing to collapse.
Guide it. Shape it. Hold it steady.
Light blazed, the ground trembling under his knees.
When it faded, a mountain of steel sat in the canyon, its desert-camouflage armor gleaming under the sun. The long barrel of its main gun pointed toward the cliffs. The engine roared to life, treads grinding stone.
The soldiers stopped drilling, staring in awe. Even Kael and Seris froze.
Daniel wiped the blood from his nose, grinning through the exhaustion.
"Now that's firepower."
The tank wasn't enough. His gut told him the Guild's reach wasn't bound to roads and walls.
He needed the sky.
The thought scared him. Aircraft were complex. Engines, electronics, hydraulics—he barely understood how half of it worked.
But his power wasn't bound by knowledge. It was bound by intent.
So he pictured the Black Hawk helicopter. Its rotors spinning, side doors open, soldiers firing from the sky.
The fire erupted, savage and brutal. He screamed, the pain clawing through every nerve. His body convulsed, his vision white-hot.
And then, with a deafening roar, the helicopter materialized above the canyon floor.
Its rotors churned the air into a storm, dust and pebbles whipping across the stone. Soldiers ducked, shielding their faces. Daniel dropped to his knees, clutching his chest, every breath ragged.
But when he lifted his head, his grin widened.
The Black Hawk hovered steady, awaiting command.
The next days blurred into one endless grind.
Daniel pushed again and again—supply crates, ammo belts, more Humvees, more rifles. A second tank. A second helicopter.
Each creation left him drained, but each time he guided the fire more efficiently. The backlash shrank. The pain receded.
His canyon was transforming.
Where once there had been stone and fire, now there were barracks, tents, motor pools, firing ranges. The sound of boots, engines, and gunfire filled the air day and night.
And Daniel Mason, once a lost private, now stood at the head of an army.
One evening, as the sun dipped behind the cliffs, Daniel stood on the canyon's edge, overlooking rows of tents, vehicles, and watchfires.
The sound of the Black Hawk's rotors thumped through the twilight. The Abrams' engine rumbled low. Soldiers marched in formation below.
His home had become more than a refuge.
It was a fortress.
And if the Eternal Guild came for him, they would find not a rogue hiding in the shadows but a commander with an army that had never existed in this world before.
The canyon was alive with the sounds of soldiers and machines, but Daniel knew something was missing.
Strength wasn't just about guns and tanks. An army couldn't march without food. Couldn't fight without medicine. Couldn't last without a place to rest.
If he wanted this home to survive, it needed more than weapons.
It needed a backbone.
He gathered Kael, Seris, and Bran by the fire. The soldiers stood nearby, silent and disciplined, but these three he trusted most. They had seen him at his weakest, and they listened when he spoke not as a commander, but as a man.
"We've got rifles, armor, and firepower," Daniel said. "But firepower alone won't keep this place standing. Armies die without food, medicine, and shelter. We need farmers. Medics. Builders. Engineers."
Seris frowned. "You would make more?"
Daniel nodded. "Not just fighters this time. People who can support them. A real base. A real home."
Bran grinned, hammer in hand. "Then we build."
The fire burned again, and Daniel guided it carefully. Not soldiers in formation this time, but men and women in work clothes. Farmers with strong hands and tools. Medics with kits and bandages. Engineers with blueprints and wrenches.
When the light faded, they blinked alive, breathing, steady, and awaiting orders.
The canyon transformed quickly.
Fields were carved at the edges where sunlight reached, rows of crops planted with precision. Engineers tunneled into the cliffs, expanding the walls outward, creating barracks, storerooms, and houses lined with timber and stone. Medics established a clinic, tents stacked with supplies Daniel conjured in crates.
Every day, the canyon grew less like a hidden camp and more like a fortress town.
Daniel stood on the ridge, watching smoke rise from new chimneys, hearing laughter from the workers and shouts from drilling soldiers.
It wasn't just survival anymore.
It was civilization.
The first houses rose from the stone floor — simple, sturdy, enough to shield from rain and wind. Soldiers had beds instead of cots. Workers had tables to eat at instead of rocks.
At night, the canyon glowed with dozens of fires, voices carrying across the stone. Soldiers told stories. Farmers traded jokes. Engineers sang as they hammered.
Daniel sat at one fire, watching it all. For a moment, it didn't feel like an army camp. It felt like a village.
My village, he thought. My home.
He touched the patch in his pocket, the stitched eye staring back at him. He wasn't Bronze. He wasn't Iron, Gold, Diamond, or Red Iridium.
He was something else entirely.
But with growth came responsibility.
Every face he saw was his creation. Every voice, every laugh, every step existed because of him. If they were attacked, it was his duty to protect them. If they starved, it was his failure.
He wasn't just a soldier anymore. He was commander, builder, and caretaker of something entirely new.
The thought both terrified and steadied him.
Because for the first time, he wasn't fighting for someone else's orders. He wasn't bleeding for another man's war.
This was his.
But safety never lasted.
Two weeks after the first fields were planted, scouts in crimson cloaks marched into a village east of the canyon. They bore the sigil of the Eternal Guild and asked questions.
"What was that sound in the hills? That thunder? That fire in the night sky?"
Farmers spoke nervously of strange noises — of engines rumbling where none should be, of thunder rolling without clouds, of shadows moving across the cliffs.
The Guild's captain narrowed his eyes.
"Send word to Caelborne. Something stirs in the east."
Daniel didn't know it yet. He stood at the canyon's edge, watching the fields sway in the wind, pride swelling in his chest as his people worked.
But already, the Guild's eyes were turning toward him.
And the home he had built in secret would soon be tested.
The canyon was no longer silent.
Engines rumbled. Hammers rang. Gunfire echoed off the cliffs. Smoke curled from chimneys. Crops sprouted in rows along the riverbank.
It was a home — and now Daniel had to make sure it stayed that way.
He walked the perimeter with Kael and Bran, boots crunching on the stone, eyes scanning the cliffs.
"First rule of a base," Daniel said, "you don't just build inside — you lock down the outside."
Bran nodded, already picturing stone in his hands. "Walls. Towers. Barriers."
Daniel pointed toward the canyon entrances. "We choke those off. Sandbags, razor wire, mounted guns. Anyone coming in goes through hell first."
The fire surged again, and Daniel guided it. Soon, M2 heavy machine guns gleamed on tripods, crates of ammo stacked neatly behind sandbag lines.
Engineers conjured and cut timber, raising watchtowers on the cliffsides. Snipers climbed into them, rifles trained on the approaches.
At the canyon mouth, Daniel had his soldiers dig trenches and lay mines. He brought in anti-vehicle weapons — Javelins, RPGs — anything that could stop a charge.
The Abrams tanks rolled to the entrances, cannons aimed outward like silent guardians. The Black Hawks circled above, rotors chopping the sky.
It wasn't just a camp anymore.
It was a fortress.
At night, Daniel walked the canyon's center, watching soldiers drill and workers laugh by the fires. His heart swelled with pride.
For the first time since he had been dragged into this world, he felt untouchable.
Let them come, he thought, clenching his fists. Let the Guild march an army here. They'll break against these walls.
But deep down, he knew safety was an illusion. He had seen too many fortresses fall.
And the Guild wasn't blind.
Far to the west, in the marble halls of Caelborne, the Eternal Guild's council received the scouts' reports.
"Thunder in the east. Fire in the sky. Farmers whisper of shadows that march like men, of weapons that kill louder than storms."
The Red Iridium guildmaster sat in silence, his crimson-cloaked enforcers at his side. His voice was low, but carried across the chamber like a blade unsheathed.
"Send scouts. Find the source. If it is true…" His eyes narrowed. "We will erase it."
Three nights later, Daniel's soldiers spotted movement on the ridgeline.
Seris's sharp eyes caught them first. She crouched in her tower, whispering into her radio — another of Daniel's conjured gifts.
"Six figures. Cloaked. Bearing the Guild's mark."
Daniel stood at the canyon floor, rifle across his chest, heart pounding.
So it had begun.
"They're probing us," he muttered. "Testing if the rumors are true."
Kael's hand tightened on his shield. "Do we strike?"
Daniel shook his head. "Not yet. Let them come closer. We need to know how much they've seen."
The scouts crept along the cliffs, their crimson cloaks stark against the moonlight.
Below, Daniel's fortress-town bristled with guns, towers, and soldiers that didn't belong to this world.
The Eternal Guild was about to glimpse the truth.
And once they did, war would follow.
"Hold fire," Daniel said into the radio. His voice was steady, absolute.
Across the canyon, soldiers lowered their rifles reluctantly. Seris hissed into her mic, "If we let them leave, they'll bring the Guild down on us."
Daniel's gaze didn't waver from the scouts above. "Good. Let them."
Kael stood beside him, silent for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "You want them to see."
Daniel's lips curved into a grim smile. "I want them to know exactly what they're walking into."
The Black Hawks circled low, rotors thundering. The Abrams tanks rolled into position at the canyon mouth, cannons gleaming under the moonlight. Spotlights snapped on, flooding the ridges with harsh white beams.
The scouts froze, caught in the glare. Their cloaks whipped in the wind, their eyes wide as they took in the impossible sight:
An army of soldiers in strange uniforms, rifles glinting, vehicles rumbling, watchtowers bristling with guns.
Daniel stepped into the spotlight, hood falling back, rifle across his chest. His voice boomed across the canyon, carried by speakers his engineers had set up.
"Go home," he barked. "Tell your Guild. Tell them I'm here. And tell them this canyon is mine."
The scouts hesitated only a moment before fleeing into the night, vanishing across the ridges.
Silence fell after they were gone, broken only by the thrum of engines and the hiss of the waterfall.
Seris descended from her tower, fury in her eyes. "You've just invited war."
Daniel met her glare evenly. "War was coming whether I wanted it or not. Better they come here, on my ground, where we're ready."
He turned toward his soldiers, their helmets shining in the moonlight, their weapons steady.
"We've got time," he said. "Not much. But enough. Build higher walls. Stack more ammo. Train harder."
His fists clenched at his sides. "The Eternal Guild thinks they own this world. They're about to learn otherwise."
Daniel climbed to the highest ridge that night, staring west toward the glow of Caelborne's towers in the distance.
The scouts would be there soon, their report echoing in the Guild's halls. Armies would march. Banners would rise.
But Daniel Mason was no longer a lost private wandering alone.
He was a commander, with a home worth defending.
And when the Guild came to burn it, he would meet them with fire of his own.
The war was coming.
And it would begin in Chapter Six.